At the Mountain Top

Grim sat very still, the claws in his gauntlets unsheathed. He stared at the blades, thinking.
It was hard to breathe up here, but the struggle and the solitude were helping him think. And so he stared at his blades some more.
"I miss them."
As soon as he had spoken those words a small yelp of alarm sounded from just ahead of him. He looked up at the source of the sound, seeing his honour-brother suddenly awake.
Roed sat shivering, clad head to foot in thick furs. His bright orange hair stubbornly poking out from the furs of his winter hat. "Y...y...y...You miss what? I m...m...m...miss Silvira. Are you m...m...missing the war c....c...club?"
"No brother. I miss my swords. You were there when they broke."
Roed nodded, or at least Grim thought he had nodded. It was hard to tell when he was wearing so many layers.
"W...w...we were h...h....heroes!"
"I want them back. I want my swords back. But I am too... damaged to take up the mantle of blademaster brother. I am not as fast as I once was."
"I...I....I'm c...c...cold. Do you w...w...want a sandwhich?" Roed dug through his furs, eventually he found what he was looking for and began to wave the frozen-solid sandwhich triumphantly at Grim.
"P...p...pork and m...marmalade!"
Grim shook his head.
"Do you ever think you chose the wrong path brother? That your life is wasted? That you have been blind?"
"I...I...I'm not blind." Roed giggled. "You are h...h...half blind though!"
Grim grunted in reply.
"One eye! O...o....o...one eye! Do you g...g...get it? It w...w...was a joke!"
Something rustled within Roed's furs, and a small green head poked forth. "Boss. Shutup. Its cold. When will this jerk let us leave?"
Grim stood, sheathing his claws.
"I do not know what path to take brother, but I thank you for accompanying me on this journey. I am a shaman, I was a blademaster. More than either I am a Warcaller and I have a duty to the warband and I must fulfill it."
Roed nodded vaguely in response, trying to take a bite out of the frozen sandwhich. His imp clambered from his furs, dancing ecstatically around the pair. "About bloody time! This place is shit, there's nothing to even burn!"

Grim stared at the piece of paper. The words almost screamed at him from the page.

"Should I fall in battle, the rank of Chieftain goes to Grim Stonepaw. The Warcallers will guide him and he will heed them or be dishonoured.

Shatterskull Chieftain Thrakha Ironsong."

He read them again. And again.
Fierce pride burned within his breast, pride warring with other emotions. Anger - he had been so close to realising his ambition. Shame - to feel any hint of bitterness at his Chieftain surviving. Joy - she had survived.

The focussed on the joy, trying to bury the other, more negative emotions.
She had survived!
Not only that, she had fought with honour and skill. Proving herself in his eyes, in the eyes of the entire warband.
She had been glorious to watch, beautiful and deadly. Like a sword-blade, sharp and slim.
The joy mixed with pride. A strange feeling, this pride. Not the pride of being chosen to inherit the warband, but the pride felt when someone cared for excels.
And he did care for her, not in the romantic way often joked about amongst the rank and file Marauders, never like that. She was... She was his Chieftain. She was his friend.
He had stared at her from across the room after her victory, he had stared as she joked and drank with the Marauders. The pride had burned fiercest then, an almost familial feeling. It felt like... like she were his younger sister.
That was it.
He had nailed what the source of the pride and joy was. In his years fighting for her, sometimes against her, advising her and protecting her he had grown to view her as family. Like the younger sibling he had never had.

The feelings of anger and shame dissipated, his efforts at crushing them succesful. He would never oppose her position, her opinions yes. Her position, no.
And so the anger left him.
The shame followed the anger, chased away by the burning pride. His Chieftain, his sister, she had excelled herself, and she had recognised his efforts with this piece of paper.

He carefully folded the paper, placing it reverently into his belt pouch. He would keep it, for he might need it some day. But, for now, he had a job to do.